


But I'm a Lumberjack

by Johannas_Motivational_Insults



Category: But I'm a Cheerleader (1999), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johannas_Motivational_Insults/pseuds/Johannas_Motivational_Insults
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johanna Mason can't believe it when her parents ship her off to a gay conversion camp under suspicions that she is showing deviant tendencies, and her problems only seem to mount when she immediately butts heads with a hostile (and unfortunately gorgeous) fellow rehabber. But I'm a Cheerleader meets The Hunger Games, Joniss-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Dollhouse

**Author's Note:**

> Rating for language, drug use, sexual content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I'd do this like 6 months ago, and when I was traveling this weekend I started getting ideas and I ended up writing this chapter. I hope you all enjoy.

It looks like a dollhouse. Like a dollhouse made of pink and blue cotton candy, whipped cream clouds above, nestled on an acreage beyond an equally pink picket fence. If you can stomach the Pepto Bismol hue, it’s a dream Victorian home. Why have a little house on the prairie when you can have a big house in the Rockies? Big house, that’s perfect, because that’s essentially what it is - my prison for the next eight weeks.

“Johanna!” calls Cinna with far more enthusiasm than is purely necessary. “Let’s get moving! Your true you awaits you!” Pardon me for not being able to echo his excitement. I shouldn’t even be here, it’s not like I actually need their help.

I met Cinna yesterday evening when my boyfriend, Blight, dropped me off at home after our few hours of work in the forest after school. It turned out he was actually dropping me into a sneak attack intervention. I walked into my living room to see the caramel skinned-man with a small afro and plenty of bling standing there in a blue t-shirt with “straight is great” blazoned across the chest. He told me that my parents, friends, and boyfriend wanted to have a conversation with me, and that he was there to help facilitate that dialogue. My reasonable confusion was solved pretty quickly when people started bringing up things ranging from the few times I’d made out with girls at clubs when we’d hit the city (who hasn’t?) to my reluctance to kiss Blight (which I blamed on his prickly facial hair, to no avail), to my fondness for Orange is the New Black. Apparently, those things plus my vegetarianism and my Tegan and Sara poster add up to me being a lesbian. Cinna and my parents told me I needed healing, and the next thing I knew, I was being carted off to this facility in Colorado Springs, home of Hokus Pokus for the Family or whatever those creepy religious nutjobs are called. My parents are probably hoping True Directions can cure my agnosticism too.

I reluctantly climb out of the vehicle and grab my luggage from the backseat. Cinna offers to take it, but I scoff and brush him off. It’s mostly because I resent the fact that he’s treating me like a little lady, but the whittling knife I snuck into a hidden compartment in my checked luggage also factors into me not wanting anyone else to touch it. It didn’t even occur to me that I’d have to declare it at Customs until we were on the plane. I’m not usually that brainless. Thankfully, it slipped through. I’ve slung my small duffel bag over my shoulder and am rolling the suitcase up the sidewalk when the hot pink door swings open and a woman with flawlessly straight grey hair comes floating down the stone steps to greet me, closely followed by an African-American man decked out in blue, much like Cinna.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome! You must be Johanna!” the woman beams. “I’m Alma, the founder of True Directions. This is my assistant, Boggs.” The man behind her steps closer, and I immediately note his kind brown eyes that contrast starkly with Alma’s almost inhuman light grey ones. All her grey features don’t go so well with her bright pink outfit. I’m sensing a theme here.

“Pleasure to meet you, Johanna,” Boggs says in a tone as gentle as his eyes. He goes to grab my luggage, and I instinctively clutch it tighter.

“We have a bit to catch up on, Johanna,” Alma explains. “Boggs will just drop those off in the room for you so you don’t have to drag them around the house. Don’t worry, he won’t bite.” It’s not him I’m worried about, to be honest. I hand the bags over warily, and he takes them with a silent smile. Cinna quickly steps up to take the duffel bag a little too eagerly, and the two of them disappear into the house. “Let’s go chat in my office,” Alma says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I’m wigging out before I even walk in the front door. Everything about her, and this place, feels incredibly creepy and fake.

A few minutes later, I’m seated across a glass desk from the founder, who has a name placard in from of her reading, “Alma B. Coin.” I’ll bet I know what the “B” stands for.

“I went over more with the others in orientation earlier this afternoon,” she explains, “But I’ll give you the basics. It’s a two-month program based on five simple steps.” I cock an eyebrow at her with a hint of a smirk, and she quickly abandons her fake smile. “Let’s just concentrate on the first step, Johanna,” she asserts. “You admitting your problem.” I still say nothing, so she clears her throat and begins, “When you see a woman in a tight skirt, and her long, beautiful legs…”

“Listen, Mrs. Coin,” I finally butt in, “no disrespect or anything, but you’re wasting your breath. I’m not gay.”

“Of course you’re not!” she smiles overenthusiastically. “Not at your core. The point of this program is to help you discover your latent heterosexuality. But you’re getting ahead of yourself. First, you must admit that you have yet to discover it.”

“But that’s not true,” I protest. “If anyone knows what my sexuality is, you’d think it would be me.”

Coin purses her lips. “Yes, you would think.”

I lay my forearms on the desk and lean forward with unrelenting eye contact. “Are you a mind-reader, Alma?” I sneer.

The older woman hardly seems perturbed, rather she mostly looks amused. It is irksome, to say the least. We are still locked in this staring contest when a knock sounds on the door near the back of the room. “Come in!” Alma barks.

A jittery redheaded girl with thick-rimmed glasses timidly enters, also wearing a horrendous pink outfit. If they think I’m gonna wear one of those, they have something else coming. “Alma? Cinna said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, Annie,” she replies warmly, at least by her standards, “I wanted you to show our late arrival to the room, help her get settled in before she gets involved.” Involved? I’m not sure I want to know what that means. Annie’s eyes dart to my face and immediately away. I smile. Nothing like a little intimidation. Well, either she’s intimidated, or she thinks I’m hot. I can use either. “Johanna, this is Annie,” Coin says, pulling my attention back to her. “She’s a fellow soldier fighting the battle for righteousness,” she declares with fervor. My eyes and face scrunch. What the hell is with these people? “She’ll show you around, and, well, you’ll get acquainted.”

I’m sure we will.

***

We’ve exited the front door and started along the terrace before Annie says two words to me. Six, actually. “So, you’re the one from Canada?” she inquires, still barely looking me in the eye.

I chuckle. “My reputation precedes me?”

“Alma mentioned it, said you had a long flight in.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not even that far, it’s just that we had to drive to Prince George and then transfer in Vancouver because I’m from a logging town in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. That, and I only had this whole thing sprung on me last night, so I just left this morning. Barely had time to pack.”

“No point in packing much, anyway,” she mutters. “We have to wear these things pretty much the whole time.”

“Well, I didn’t know that.” She shrugs. “What about you? Where are you from?”

“California.”

“Oh, yeah?” I grin. “You a surfer?”

“Swimmer. There’s a boy here who surfs, though… he’s from NorCal too. And he swims, too. All-State.”

“Someone have a straight crush?” I tease her, poking her in the ribs. Clearly flustered, she ducks her head and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, there. That must be at least a couple more steps, right?”

That brings her eyes back up. “Alma didn’t tell you all the steps?”

“No,” I smile in relief, “you interrupted at the perfect time, actually.”

“Mm. Well, you didn’t miss much besides that,” she muses, ushering me toward a pink door across a patio. “Group therapy and re-orienting exercises daily, family therapy on the weekends.”

“Re-orienting exercises?”

“Something about our gender identities being all wrong.”

“Right,” I scoff, “Because I don’t wear pink all the time?”

Annie looks over my outfit and ominously assures me, “You will soon,” before swinging the door open and leading me inside.

“Oh,” is about all I can say. The room looks like a Barbie dream catalogue barfed on it, all pink and plastic and generally gross. There’s another pink-clad girl in here already, lounging on one of the beds and reading a book. Great, is everyone here a giant nerd?

It’s just crossing my mind that having a bunch of lesbians sleep in one room might not be the best way to convert them when Annie addresses the issue. “And this is where we sleep,” she says, stating the obvious. “But there’s no inappropriate behavior allowed.”

“Inappropriate, Mermaid?” I purr, leaning in closer and winding a tendril of her hair around my finger. “What ever could you mean by that?” The girl brushes profusely, and I turn into the room, very pleased with myself. I may not be a lesbian, but that doesn’t mean I can’t entertain myself with them. In fact, it’s better that I’m not, because I’m immune to their charms… but no one’s immune to mine. I blink over to the other girl and immediately catch her striking grey eyes staring at me over the top of her book. She blinks away after holding my gaze for a few seconds, but with the book over her face, I couldn’t get a read on her expression. “Hey,” I greet her as I head over to the bed where the men dropped my bags, which happens to be adjacent to hers. “I’m Johanna.”

“Katniss,” she says clearly but quietly in a deep, raspy voice, but with her nose still in the book. I squint across my bed and irritably kick off my shoes and socks. Unless you’re talking about my family, in which I was the forgotten middle child until my supposed queerness made me special, I’m not used to being ignored. I don’t like it.

Before I have any time to question what I’m doing, I’ve crawled across the mattress and come to rest with my feet dangling above the floor, my short legs insufficient to reach it. I sit there and silently observe her until the awkwardness forces her to respond, either that or I’ve been looking at her long enough now to fully grab her attention. She lowers the book, giving me a better view of her smooth, olive complexion. Between her apparent height and dark, stony features, I can’t help but observe that she’s absolutely fucking gorgeous. Though the burbling in my stomach doesn’t feel entirely like jealousy, it’s still a huge compliment when I catch her eyes roaming my torso. I grin smugly as she finally meets my eyes, but this just pulls an annoyed grimace onto her face. So she’s stunning _and_ uptight. “Can I help you?” she asks impatiently.

I smirk and slide my forearms down my knees, leaning in closer. “I’m sure you’d like that,” I drawl, “but the sea siren over there just said that’s not allowed.” Annie huffs as she passes us on her way to the attached bathroom, only pulling my lips wider.

Annie is closing the door behind her by the time Katniss sneers, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Bitch. Where does she get off questioning my attractiveness? I’ve been returning her scowl for a few seconds before I remember I’m wearing sweats and a hoodie. They’re comfortable clothes for flying, but don’t make much of an impression. I grin slyly and stand up, stretching my arms above my head. “My apologies,” I say sweetly. “Modesty’s never been my forté.” She squints warily but nods in acknowledgment of this admission. She probably thinks I mean humility. While that’s also true, she’s about to find out exactly how immodest I can be. I expel a theatrical yawn and then lower my arms, only to grab the sides of my sweater and lift it over my head. I feel my t-shirt riding up, exposing my stomach along the way. Once the sweatshirt has cleared my eyes, they immediately catch the other girl’s and find them… I don’t even know. Affected? She has a very convincing poker face, but her eyes betray a diverse cocktail of emotions that are hard to suss out. There’s irritation for sure, and suspicion, but perhaps also a hint of… curiosity, maybe?

She probably wasn’t expecting anything beyond that accidentally-on-purpose abdominal exposure, because her eyes start to grow when I move to peel off the shirt. “I’m all rank from my flight,” I give as a flimsy explanation. “Pardon me.” She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t say anything at all. She doesn’t even try to look away when I slip my elastic waistband over my hips and let the pants drop to the floor, though I think it might be because she’s too shocked to react. I wasn’t planning on getting completely naked, but something about seeing this sullen, hostile girl apparently mesmerized by my body gives me a shot of boldness and eggs me on. So much for not flattering myself, bitch. Her eyes practically bulge out of their sockets as I unhook my scarlet bra and let it slide down my arms and to the floor, her mouth dropping open just as wide. Judging from her reactions, she’s probably a virgin. I am too, though likely not by lesbian standards. But most people wouldn’t guess my lack of experience, and that’s not something I’m about to go around sharing.

I’m struggling to keep a smug grin off my face in favour of acting completely chill, but thankfully, Annie provides a distraction by exiting the bathroom just as I’m sliding my matching panties down my hips. “Oh my…” she trails off, fighting to keep her eyes down as I kick my final garment aside. I can practically see her getting hard, despite the lack of an obvious appendage.

“Sorry, is this too inappropriate for you?” I smirk and turn around to dig in one of my bags for some jeans. Not at all to put my ass on display. I wiggle into the new pants and turn around just as I zip them up. Katniss raises her eyes from my hips, but doesn’t get past my shoulders. I turn my attention to Annie, or at least I pretend to.

“So, Annie, tell me about the rest of the group,” I suggest. “Who’s the fourth girl?” I specify, jerking my head toward the messed up bed between hers and mine.

“Um, she’s a goth or something. A punk, maybe? She has piercings and things.”

“Oh, yeah?” I smirk, fastening a new bra over my diaphragm. “What does she have pierced?” Annie’s mouth flaps silently a few times as she struggles to find words. I eventually take pity on her. She’s not really the one I’m trying to unnerve, anyway. Easy isn’t fun. “What about the boys?”

“Just three,” she chokes out, seemingly relieved now that I’m pulling on a tiny tank top. It’s some coverage, anyway. “Finnick, the surfer. And two boys from Pennsylvania.”

“That’s boring,” I say decidedly.

Annie points down at the girl on the bed and informs me, “She’s from there, too.”

I look over the darker girl for a moment before declaring, “I stand by my statement,” while pulling on a flannel to hang loosely from my shoulders. I bend forward enough to give them a prime view of my cleavage and finally look Katniss in the eye. Not that she’s looking me in the eye. “Something in the water over there?”

The question directed at her finally seems to break her out of her daze, but she still has to visibly shake the cobwebs from her brain. “It’s not entirely a coincidence,” she explains. “Gale’s my cousin.”

“Is that the punk girl?” I ask with a furrowed brow, confused over what that has to do with geography.

“No,” she snaps. “Gale’s a boy, moron.” Oh, okay, now I get what she’s saying. But the poor guy.

I snort and give my head a shake. “No wonder he’s gay.” The other two continue to stare at me, and it’s almost starting to feel awkward. The pink in this room is giving me a headache anyway, so I decide to take my leave and collect my nerves away from prying eyes. I throw on a new pair of socks and round the bed to jam my feet back in their shoes. Then I smirk broadly at the two girls, making sure to make plenty of eye contact with the darker one, and purr, “Let’s do it again sometime.” I sashay out the door, making sure to sway my hips confidently. But the instant I hear it click shut, I slump back against it and release a heavy breath. Holy fuck. That was ridiculous, even for me. But the looks on their faces were totally worth it.

***

Half an hour later, I’m on the hot seat in the True Directions living room. Literally, they call it the hot seat. I quell my own anxiety by joking inwardly about how fitting that is.

“Johanna, meet the rest of our group,” says Alma. She nods to my far left, where the aforementioned punk is sitting, though I think that was a bit overstated. Half of her hair has been shaved off, but it appears to be its natural blonde hue. Her only visible piercings so far are two eyebrow rings on her shaved side.

However, she proves Annie’s intuitions right when she stands up and announces, “I’m Cressida, I like punk rock, I’m a homosexual.” Piercing blue eye bore into mine as she sits down, and I stare into them about as helplessly as a deer in the headlights.

A strikingly beautiful young man with bronze hair and tanned skin pops out of his seat next and introduces himself as, “Finnick. Swimmer, model, homosexual.” He has a bit of the telltale lisp, but it’s under a smooth Californian accent. I briefly wonder if he’s a plant to try to turn the lesbians; it might already be working on the redhead a little bit. But he’s not my type. I like dark and brooding. Like the guy next to him. He’s probably that bitch’s cousin.

“Gale, homosexual hunter and trapper,” the boy says once he’s stood up, confirming my suspicions. He smiles faintly. “How you doin’?” I return his smile and nod cordially. Despite the venom in his bloodline, I’ve instantly taken a liking to him. And he’s very handsome, maybe even bangable. If these people think I’m gay, they’re nuts.

Katniss is next in line, but she just grunts, “We met.”

“Katniss!” barks Alma.

The girl rolls her eyes, stands up, and announces in an overly sweet tone, “I’m Katniss, and I like reading, archery, and girls.” She turns to Alma and adds condescendingly, “Oh, and I’m a homosexual.” Wow, and people call me an antisocial cunt.

Once Katniss is seated, the last boy stands and waves shyly. “I’m Peeta Mellark, I work in a bakery…” he says, immediately revealing himself as a hand-talker. “I’m a homosexual.” Oh great, what a fucking bimbo. With his well-groomed features and defined muscles, he’s what the gays would call… a twink, is it? A blond sissy, certainly, though not as outwardly flamboyant as Finnick.

Annie doesn’t make any personal statements, but I guess she’s exempt because she was my tour guide. She can’t even look me in the eye, anyway. I should probably apologize for using her to get under Katniss’s skin. Not that I’ll ever blatantly admit that that was my intention.

I flick my eyes over to Alma, who’s sat down beside her. “It’s time for your first disclosure,” she starts, “now don’t be intimidated.” Can I really help it? I mentally double-check that I’ve stilled my jittery knee and am keeping my eyes glazed over. “Why don’t you start by telling us about the first time that you realized that you might be a lesbian?”

“I’m not,” I remind her. I look around at the group blankly. “Everyone just thinks I am. I shouldn’t even be here.”

The others exchange knowing glances while Alma clears her throat and plasters on a smile. “That’s a perfectly normal place to start. Why don’t we discuss the issues in your intervention?”

I run over the catalogue of reasons in my head and respond, “Well, I’m a vegetarian.”

The group replies with a chorus of groans and a collective, “Mm hmm.”

“I sometimes make out with girls at bars,” I admit.

“And you think you’re straight?” Annie inquires with a hint of incredulity.

“Sure,” I say decisively. “Everybody does that.”

“I don’t,” Peeta chimes in.

“Shut your pie hole, Pita Bread,” I retort. “Of course, you don’t. You’re gay as a tennis player.”

“So you’ve watched Imagine Me and You,” observes Cressida. My eyes go wide, drawing a lopsided smirk onto her lips. “I’m a big movie buff.” She winks and adds, “Am I gay?”

“I’m ecstatic!” I finish the line emphatically with a huge grin.

“Wow, you are really fucking gay,” Katniss observes dryly.

“I am not!” I insist over Alma’s command to lay off the profanity. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Do you?” asks Alma, turning her attention back to me. 

“Yeah, we’ve been together two years.” I hold her gaze knowingly and list off, “He’s smart, popular, rugged and handsome–”

“He’s got the biggest dick you’ve never seen?” Katniss suggests. This gives me pause, briefly, because it’s actually completely accurate. Not that I haven’t felt it grinding against me through his pants on the rare occasion when we’ve gotten hot and heavy. But I haven't seen it, and I don't really care to, admittedly.

Annie saves me from this awkward moment of self-reflection when she expounds on Katniss’s question in her in her own jittery way. "Well, um, have you ever… had sex with him?" She cringes and makes a sour face at the end of this sentence, as though she finds the concept truly repulsive.

"Of course,” I say with a measure of relief. “I let him go down on me any time he shaves off that damn beard."

"Oh, honey." I barely hear Finnick’s voice over the sound of Katniss snorting. I glare at her, but she just smirks in return.

“I could get off with anyone’s face between my legs,” Cressida states flatly. “But does _he_ make you hot? I mean, do you think of him at night when you…” She makes a suggestive face.

I stare daggers at her and demand, “Are suggesting I have a problem getting it up?”

“Are you suggesting you have a dick?” Gale snaps back just as quickly.

“I told you, gay as all hell,” Katniss smirks, prodding her cousin with her elbow. She gestures at my outfit. “I mean, just look at that flannel.”

“I’m a lumberjack,” I inform her.

She snickers and shakes her head. “That’s not helping your case.”

“Look, I’m not like the rest of you!” I exclaim, standing up forcefully. “Everyone ships Vauseman, everyone checks out other girls, all the time!”

“But you’re only assuming that they’re thinking what you’re thinking when they look,” Gale responds firmly. “But they’re not.” What? Then what the hell are they thinking about? How that chick is gonna be such stiff competition to get a man? Gross.

“And that the girls you make out with at the club enjoy it as much as you do,” Annie chimes in. “But they’re doing it to get attention from boys or because they’re drunk.”

“Drunk off their asses,” Katniss grumbles.

“But they don’t get the same feelings we do,” Annie finishes after throwing a quick glare her way.

I flick my eyes between them and manage a weak “…We?”

“You know, tightness and butterflies in the stomach, weak knees, heart going crazy…” Katniss elucidates.

“Fire in the hole,” Cressida contributes, smirking crassly. “And when you go to the bathroom next, you’re like, ‘Where the hell did that come from?’”

“I… I thought that happened to everyone,” I murmur, wide eyes darting about. “I thought that was normal.” I hear a tinge of desperation seeping into my tone as I focus on Alma and appeal, “I just wanna be normal.”

“Then you admit you’re not normal,” she replies firmly. “So why don’t you admit you’re a homosexual?”

I can feel myself beginning to panic internally as my mind starts zooming between various memories. Cinna telling me how denial is normal part of the healing process I’d be exploring here. How I went out of my way to kiss girls at the club, but avoided kissing Blight. Even when he’d shaved, admittedly. My excessive affection for my gym teacher in junior high.

“I’m a homosexual,” I say slowly, testing it out on my tongue. It doesn’t taste as sour as I might have expected. It’s not that I find homosexuality repulsive, but I always assumed that one day I’d marry Blight or some other forest worker in the town, and we’d settle in a nice cabin in the woods and I’d pop out a few babies. But then, it appears I’ve been assuming a lot.

“I’m a homosexual,” I repeat, looking up at the group. Their expressions range from sympathetic to haughty to concerned. My eyes are as wide as saucers as I turn to Alma, who’s stepped up beside me. She is beaming proudly.

“Congratulations, Johanna!” she exclaims. “You’ve just taken your first step in your true direction!”

The group swiftly descends on me to smother me in a group hug, but I don’t really reciprocate because my mind is still too numbed. Katniss notably stays seated, but I’m fine with that. As the others say their goodbyes and start to file out, I catch Cressida giving me a once over from a foot away. She doesn’t blink away shyly like Annie would; she smirks shamelessly and lets her eyes linger a little bit longer as she prowls away. I blink my eyes back into the room and they jump to Katniss, who’s now standing by the couch. Though she’s still eyeing me with distaste, she throws me a sly wink on her way out the door. Bitch has to rub it in.

“Don’t worry, Johanna,” Alma smiles, laying a hand on my shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.” I stare at her blankly and nod, because I don’t trust myself to speak. “Here, put these on,” she says, thrusting a pink blouse and skirt into my arms. I gawk at them disbelievingly as I hear her heels clicking away. I guess I might as well get with the program, now that I know it actually does apply to me. They were right. I’m a homo.

***

Sushi is on the menu tonight. And they say this place is supposed to make us less gay. I, of course, have to stick to the California Rolls. I’m munching on one on my way to find a seat when I pass by Katniss, who’s sitting with her fellow Pennsylvanians at one of the tables. She glowers at me and all but spits, “Congratulations on your first step, Axe Wound.”

I sidle up to the other table while keeping a wary eye on her, and Finnick is quick to pat my arm and say, “Don’t listen to her.” He looks her way and continues pointedly, “She’s just upset ‘cause the fish on her plate is the only kind she can eat!”

I feel like thinking about eating any kind of fish is not something that would prove very helpful for me right now, so I quickly attempt to change the subject. “So, Cressida,” I say, turning to the girl on my right, “You’re a movie buff, huh?”

“You can call me Cress,” she smirks, a twinkle in her eye. “And, yeah. Filmmaking’s a hobby of mine.”

“I’m sure it is,” drawls Finnick, winking facetiously.

“Porn? I wish,” she snorts. “Then maybe I’d feel I deserve to be here.”

“Didn’t you say you’re gay?” I mention.

“I meant then I’d at least have done something worth punishing,” she grumbles, stabbing haphazardly at her side of rice. I stare blankly at her. “What, do you really think we should be stuck in this place over something we can’t control?” she demands, now waving the chopsticks animatedly.

“I thought it was like a prison when I got here too, but maybe it’s more meant to be like a support group, you know?” I ponder. “Try thinking of it that way.”

“So, stripteasing me and Annie,” Katniss immediately growls from the other table, “that was meant to be supportive?”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, eyeing my plate. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Wait,” Cress whines, “I missed a striptease?”

Everyone is looking on with interest now, except for Annie, who’s turned beet red and is covering her ears with her hands like she’s trying to block out reality. I faintly hear Peeta mumble, “Ew.”

“You knew Annie was gay, you knew I was,” Katniss argues forcefully. “Didn’t it occur to you that maybe some of us are trying to get through this program without getting kicked out? That maybe we have things on the line?”

“What,” I patronize her, “like Mommy and Daddy won’t love you anymore?”

I can see rage boiling up in her expression, but then she suddenly throws on that poker face again. She shakes her head and mutters, “You are unbelievable” into her plate. I was expecting her to say more, but I guess she’s a woman of few words. It’s a shame. I enjoy getting a rise out of her, of course, but I’d love to make that uptight bitch absolutely lose it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for the beta read and a really cute pun.


	2. Root of All Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I really did not mean to take over a year to update this. It fell by the wayside with my two intense canon-adjacent longfics still going. Hopefully the next chapter will come sooner - I forgot how much fun this story is to write.

“And then you go in, and then you go up, and then you go down. Girls, is everyone paying attention?”

How could we not be, with all the rampant subtext going on? We’re paying very close attention indeed as Alma demonstrates how to handle a vacuum cleaner crevice tool, rocking back and forth with the hose in her hand. I feel a little bad for her unwilling assistant Annie, who’s mirroring the movement and looking like a total deer in the headlights. I’d know, I’ve hit a few in my day.

“And then you go in and out, and in and out,” continues Alma. “Get into every little crevice.” Cress licks her lips lecherously along to the commentary, while Katniss looks like she could explode into a fit of laughter at any moment. I’m barely holding in the snickers myself.

This is hardly the most humiliating exercise we’ve had to endure over the last few days. Alma put us through a variety of spa treatments our first full day, ripping hair off of various places and applying concealers and foundations to get us to what she called “beauty base zero” before making us apply more obvious makeup as she deemed appropriate. My eyebrows were already tweezed, thankfully, but I don’t usually wear anything but eye makeup, so I found the whole ordeal quite annoying. Cressida made the best of it, taking the opportunity to paint Katniss’s nails black like hers. My stomach churned while I watched her gently handle the girl’s long fingers. I feel like there might be something going on there.

As we’re exiting today’s 1950s housewife lesson, an elbow nudges my side. The blonde’s grin lights up my whole field of view as I turn my face.

“Hey, Joey Jangles,” purrs Cressida. “Come with me.” After she heard about the strip tease I gave the other girls, she insisted I needed a stripper name. Sounds like a dude stripper’s name to me. Following as she waves me around to the backside of the building, I find her slumped against the wall, producing a zipper bag with a pre-rolled joint and some loose buds.

“You’re kidding!” I gasp, peeking around the corner. The coast is clear, so I turn back to Cress and find her digging out a lighter.

“What?” she asks around the obstruction, swiftly lighting it.

“You really are trying to get kicked out, aren’t you?” When she shrugs noncommittally, I try again. “I thought you were a punk, not a stoner.”

“You know the two can cross over, _eh_?” Quirking an eyebrow at that, she takes a toke. When I respond with a dirty look, she just smirks and blows smoke in my face, extending the joint to me. “I thought everyone’s a stoner, where you’re from.”

Though it’s not entirely inaccurate, I feel the need to retort, “That’s a horrible stereotype.” But it’s through a smile.

Cressida just shrugs, “All the more for me.” Sucking the joint again to keep it lit, she adds, “Shame, though. I thought maybe I’d found my smoking buddy.”

There’s a slight edge to my tone when I remark, “Why don’t you ask Katniss?”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Katniss is sort of straight edge. Haven’t you noticed?”

My head falls back against the wall with a genuine laugh. Then I reach for the joint, pretending not to notice the sparks I feel as our fingers brush in passing. So suddenly now that I’ve realized I like girls, I’m attracted to the first one who shows any interest in me? Of fucking course.

***

After a hearty breakfast of eggs and sausage (dear lord, don’t get me started) the next morning, the entire group assembles in one of our gathering places, an outdoor semi-circle of large rocks across from this huge cheesy painting of a farmhouse. A smattering of hay bales in front of it completes the look. You'd think we were peering out the bedroom window of some lesbian horse girl in Alberta, not overlooking the mountains of Colorado.

“Okay then, who’s left to report out their root?” muses Alma, peeking at her clipboard. “Finnick?”

Gesturing with a befitting flamboyance, the handsome surfer lisps, “Shit, Miss Alma, I ain’t the only one who don’t got no root.”

“Finnick, we don’t use profanity or double negatives here at True Directions,” she chastises him, garnering a salty eye roll. “Okay, who’s next?” Turning to me, she smiles in a way that makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. “Johanna?”

Avoiding her infinitely creepy eye contact, I mumble blankly, “Well, I’ve really been thinking, but I just can’t think of anything.”

“Seriously?” Katniss snorts. “You’re like the poster child for lesbians.”

Without missing a beat, I retort, “And you’re the poster child for cun… try girls.” Katniss scoffs, her tongue tucked in her cheek, but I think she’s more surprised than offended. I can remedy that. “A regular Pennsatucky, no?”

“Katniss has better teeth,” Cressida notes. We exchange a look before busting out laughing in unison.

“Hey, that’s enough!” Peeta interjects. “Leave her alone.”

“Oh, look who thinks he’s a white knight,” I drawl mockingly. With a nod at the tall girl, I smirk, “You sure you’re not straight for her?”

Finnick leans closer to me, his breath brushing my ear as he whispers, “Cut it out, Jo.” I turn to throw some shade his way, but there’s a calm insistence in his eyes that steals my words.

“Fine,” I grumble, shifting my weight away from him. “Whatever.” Sighing theatrically, I mull the question over for at least the third time. “Okay,” I venture, “I did have this really hot gym teacher in junior high, who paid a lot of attention to me.”

“Reframe your language, Johanna,” Coin interrupts.

“I had a beautiful gym teacher, then,” I correct myself with an eye roll. “And I didn’t get a lot of attention at home, so maybe I kind of latched on to that, you know?”

“Of course!” she affirms. “That’s very insightful, Johanna.” The group claps while I squirm on my boulder. Meanwhile, Alma claims her next victim. “Now, Gale. Have you had any breakthroughs since our last discussion?”

“Ummm…” Nervously bouncing away his grey eyes, he scratches the back of his neck.

“Maybe you need to be reminded of some more examples?” suggests Alma, gesturing at the group for assistance.

“My brother left his porn stash unlocked,” Cressida freely offers, making me snicker under my breath. Typical.

“All-girl boarding school?” stammers Annie, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

“My mother used to beat me,” Peeta murmurs, intently picking at his cuticles. “Call me a stupid creature, things like that. With no sisters, I guess I never learned to trust women.”

That’s a new one. The air grows heavy as we all shift around, none of us knowing what to say. Except for the one person I wouldn’t expect.

“Think that’s bad?” drawls Katniss, looking him over. When he lifts his eyes to meet hers, she claps a supportive hand on his shoulder and smirks, “ _My_ mother got married in pants. The horror!” The baker manages a wry smile, bringing a rare one to her face as well. Surveying the rest of us, she shrugs. “The first time, anyway.”

Though Alma’s stern expression toward Katniss makes clear how unwelcome her sass is, it relents as she addresses the girl’s cousin. “Now, Gale, do you see how easy it can be? You just have to dig down into those painful memories, and you’ll find it.”

Though the darker boy nods, he still averts his eyes from Alma Coin’s piercing gaze. She doesn’t seem to notice or care, changing the subject with a flourish as she stands. “Today,” she pronounces, “we are going to learn one of the most wonderful things about being a heterosexual. Friendship.” I snort under my breath. Yeah, us gays know nothing about that. “Boys, you’ll have to be a threesome,” she continues with a face as straight as her hair, “but girls, I’d like you to split up, partner off with someone to be your friend for the remainder of the program.”

I’ve barely stood by the time Annie’s whizzing through my field of view, making a beeline for Cressida. Probably because she’s the least intimidating option available. That’s saying a lot. Cressida doesn’t brush off Annie’s proposal, and in fact watches with a great deal of amusement as Katniss and I make grudging eye contact and inch closer. We’re wearing matching scowls as we settle beside each other, crossing our arms with an almost competitive petulance. Katniss is the last person I would have chosen for a friend or even an ally, and she no doubt feels the same way. So basically, Annie is now my new least favourite person. Almost.

Our first partnered activity, at Alma’s request, is to review a deck of flashcards that night. Things like identifying women’s proper roles in society and the family unit. Barf. It’s a lovely night, and I’d rather be drinking and staring at the stars with Blight. Or making out with some attractive girl, maybe. Glancing at my partner, I revise my wish list. Attractive and not brimming with hostility.

Passing the deck to Katniss after her latest unenthusiastic answer, I peer over her shoulder at Peeta and Finnick seated on the next pair of hay bales, going over cards alone. “Your cousin sure doesn’t seem very with the program,” I observe.

Barely looking up from the cards, Katniss deadpans, “He’s still looking for his root.”

I snort. “Must be tough when he’s so butch.”

The archer’s brow furrows as she fiddles with the end of her long dark braid. “I’m not even sure he’s gay, to be honest. He came out in my defense, like to say it’s not such a big deal.” She catches my eye in time to shrug, “I don’t think he was counting on my Aunt Hazelle sending him with me.”

“That’s really thoughtful of him,” I say. She nods, returning her gaze to the cards in her lap. I poke her leg with my toe, and when she looks up I smirk, “Maybe he is gay.”

Katniss laughs a little. Like, genuinely laughs. I don’t think I’ve witnessed that before. “Yeah, maybe,” she chuckles.

“You guys are close,” I remark, watching for changes in her generally impassive face.

“Mm,” nods Katniss. “We hunt together all the time back home. Our families barely scrape by, and a little extra meat doesn’t hurt.”

Eyebrows knitting, I probe, “Is it legal year-round?”

“We do whatever we need to do to survive,” she replies flatly, tapping the handful of cards on her hay bale to re-form the deck and indicate the end of our intimate discussion. “We use bows, anyway. They’re silent.”

“And I thought you shot for fun,” I smirk, in an attempt to keep things light.

She just shakes her head. “I don’t do much of anything for fun.”

Narrowing my eyes at her persistent blank tone, I scoff, “Somehow, I believe that.”

Katniss glares at me distastefully. “So what do you do for fun, Mason?” she sneers. “Other than strip in front of strangers?” Her expression wavers a little as I shoot her my best bedroom eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

***

The next morning, we are subjected to our first family therapy session. Some of us, anyway - we have to do it in smaller groups to allow sufficient attention for everyone. For some reason, I am grouped with the Pennsylvanians. Maybe they wanted to keep all the backwoods hillbilly families together.

The four of us plus Alma crowd around a pair of monitors in her office and she logs on to the videoconference platform. Seeing as we’re over five minutes early, the stream is silent at first, but within moments another participant window pops up on the left-hand screen. A large grey eye stares and blinks into the camera.

Squinting doubtfully, the eye demands, “Is this thing working?” 

“How should I know?” responds a second female voice. The eye pulls back and we get a full view of the body housing it. She has the same eyes and skin tone as both Katniss and Gale, so I assume she's one of their mothers. The woman beside her, I'm not sure. Blonde and fair-skinned, she bears more of a resemblance to Peeta. Do all their families know each other?

“Mom?” calls Gale. “It works. We can see you.”

“Gale, honey,” beams the darker woman, flicking her eyes down to the monitor. “How are you?” Gale barely has time to mumble a reply before she hollers, “Kids, come say hi to your brother!”

Two preteen boys and a younger girl come scampering around the corner, eager greetings on their lips. “Hey Gale!” waves the girl. “Hey Kat!”

“Are you guys getting better?” interrupts the smaller boy. “Can you come home soon?”

“We’re trying, Vic,” is his reply, though the lack of enthusiasm in it leads me to believe otherwise.

“Hello again, Mrs. Hawthorne,” says Coin. With a cordial nod to the white lady, she adds, “Mrs. Thread.” My eyebrows knit at the unfamiliar name that only adds to my confusion over who she's related to. “You're sharing a stream?”

“We thought it would be more economical to buy one webcam,” explains Mrs. Thread, just as a rather large man enters the frame and lays his hand on her shoulder, peering at the screen with unabashed repugnance. Large as in a bit of a potbelly, yes, but also the muscle bulk of a labourer and a daunting stature. What’s left of his buzzed hair is grey, but he doesn’t look like he could be older than fifty despite the hard lines in his face. His eyes are black as coal and he has this comically long nose that somewhat undermines his otherwise intimidating features.

His pasty skin and ample muscle mass almost has me leaning toward the couple being Peeta’s parents until he sits down. As his arm slides around the woman, I feel Katniss stiffen beside me, hear her breathe in sharply through her nose. Peeking at her face, I find it even more hardened than usual, an extra reserve of vitriol simmering behind her eyes. That’s when I finally clue in and remember what she said about her mother being remarried. That explains the mismatched surnames and her lack of resemblance to the couple. I can’t help but wonder if her real dad is in the picture at all. Hazelle Hawthorne is probably his sister, I reason by deduction, and she’s still around.

“Mrs. Coin,” nods the man. “I trust you’re taking good care of our wayward children.”

“We’re right here, Uncle Rommy,” giggles the young girl, pulling a smile onto his previously stern face.

“Not you, silly goose,” he teases, pinching her nose. “You’re a good kid, aren’t you?”

The girl nods effusively. “And I’m not sick. Or I’d have to go away like Gale.”

The two mothers share an awkward glance, but he doesn’t skip a beat. “That’s right. We don’t want anyone else in this family getting sick.”

“They don’t look sick to me!” Vic chimes in, tilting his head as he leans closer. At this point his mother glances at the third kid and nods pointedly at his siblings. He intervenes immediately, stepping in and clearing his throat.

“Guys, let’s get going,” he encourages the younger two. “Grown-up things, remember?”

The girl pouts but acquiesces, while Vic stares another few seconds before his mother tugs on his arm and he clears out. “Close the door!” Hazelle calls after them.

After sitting stony-faced through that whole interaction, Katniss finally breaks her silence once the door swings shut with a loud click. “Where’s Prim?” she demands, her tone measured but dark.

“She’s at home,” replies the blond woman evenly. “We didn’t think this was something she needed to see.”

Jaw setting, Katniss protests, “You promised-”

“You promised you’d focus on fixing yourself so you could be an appropriate role model for your sister,” interjects her stepfather. “She doesn’t need your influence with you the way you are.” Katniss’s throat tightens and bobs as she glares at the camera, nails digging into her thigh. “If you do well in the program, we’ll consider bringing her to graduation. Until then, you’re not to attempt to contact her. Have I made myself clear, young lady?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies through gritted teeth. Feeling movement to my right, I notice Gale’s arm slipping around her to rest his hand on her mid-back. Something compels me to perform the same gesture, but maybe I should just stay out of it.

“She’s hardly contagious through a computer screen, Uncle Romulus,” argues Gale. “She just wants to see her sister.” Peeking across Katniss, I identify an undertone of fear in his angry eyes as he juts his chin out defiantly. “Cut her some slack.”

Thread leans in to point threateningly at the camera. “Shut up if you know what’s good for you, boy. This has nothing to do with you, do you understand? This is between me and my daughter.”

“I’m not your daughter!” growls Katniss, face flaming.

“You’re not going to be anyone’s daughter for long if you keep your terrible attitude,” he retorts, pausing a menacing beat before adding, “Or anyone’s sister.”

That verbal blow is enough to knock the air from Katniss’s lungs. The sound it makes as it leaves her and the way she recoils, fists clenching, stoke a surprising anger in my belly. Nope, I can’t stay out of it.

“Hey!” I shout. “Listen, Mr. Needlenose. Your stepkid really is trying to do well here. I’ve seen her avoid some pretty sticky situations in hopes of successfully graduating, coming home. If it seems like her attitude sucks, it’s because you’re being an aggressive assbag!”

Red seeps into Thread’s cheeks and ears as his expression goes dangerously dark. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way.”

Unlike Katniss or Gale, I have no reason whatsoever to fear this tyrant. I take full advantage of that. “Or you’ll what?” I crack, tilting my head condescendingly. “Scold me to death? Wag a pudgy bigoted finger in my face?”

“Johanna, that’s enough,” interjects Alma. “Let’s let cooler heads prevail.” But it’s much too late for that.

“Who do you think you are?” steams the hulking man.

“Someone who evidently knows Miss Everdeen better than you,” I retort, pointedly using her unchanged last name. “And someone who’s less willing to take your shit than she is. So why don’t you get the hell out of here and leave the family therapy to the actual families?”

Peeta gasps from the other side of Gale, somewhere between scandalized and thrilled. One of his hands claps over his mouth, barely restraining an audible laugh. I smirk smugly at him, quite pleased with myself.

“Who’s the white knight now, bitch?” guffaws Peeta. “You sure you’re not gay for her?”

My eyes narrow peevishly at the grinning twink. Yes, I’m sure. I don’t even like her, much less like like her. I just hate the way she’s being spoken to. She’s a bitch, but she deserves more respect than that. And I’ve always been the type to stand up to bullies.

A ping mercifully sounds, rescuing me from having to craft a witty and convincing retort. “Oh, here are the Mellarks,” announces Alma. “Thank God.” I couldn’t have said it better.

My parents join the chat only moments later, scrambling into their seats. Peeling off a heavy flannel, my dad asks, “Sorry, are we late?”

“No, you’re right on time, Mr. Mason,” Alma assures them warmly. By her standards, anyway. Standing from her seat beside Peeta, she addresses all the participants. “Greetings from True Directions. I would introduce all of the families, but as I understand, most of you know each other.”

“That’s true,” agrees Mrs. Thread. “Mr. Mellark and I were childhood friends.”

“Small world,” the man confirms with a tight nod. “Who ever thought we’d be here?”

Alma smiles cheerily. “Wonderful. Mr. and Mrs. Mason, these are some of your daughter’s fellow rehabbers.” Laying a hand on the shoulder of the boy beside her, she continues, “This is Peeta. Beside him is Gale, and beside him, his cousin Katniss. They all hail from Pennsylvania. Peeta’s parents are in a stream alone, and that’s Gale’s mother with Katniss’s mother and stepfather.”

“Hello, everyone.” My mom waves a calloused, sap-covered hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“And these are the Masons,” Alma says, “From British Columbia. That’s their daughter Johanna on the far right of your screens.”

Mr. Thread snorts. Raising his chin, he remarks, “And they say Canadians are polite.”

My dad’s eyebrow arches high on his forehead. “Pardon me?”

“You need to teach your daughter a lesson or two about respecting her elders, Mr. Mason.”

“Let’s not derail the conversation,” Alma calmly insists. “We’ve had enough of that already.”

It’s my lucky day. I direct my latest smug smirk into the camera, to which my mother cautions me, “Johanna, behave yourself.” This culls a tiny snort from Katniss.

In spite of my dread of this whole experience and the awkward start, the session goes smoothly for the most part until Alma presses Gale yet again on what his root may be. Squirming and gazing at the keyboard, the handsome boy theorizes, “My father died five years ago, when I was thirteen, so maybe I was missing a male role model during the years I was… you know… getting settled into my sexuality?”

“Absolutely, Gale!” gushes Alma Coin. “You know, I can’t believe you never mentioned this before.”

“It’s not a fun thing to talk about,” he points out sharply. Dropping his eyes, he mutters, “Life’s been harder since, and Mom and I have had to do the best we can. Survival’s been a struggle.”

“Of course it has, dear boy,” Coin sympathizes. “And without a man around to parent you, no wonder you were wanting for guidance.”

“It’s not like that,” retorts Gale. “My mother is wonderful.”

“And not all you needed,” she argues. “You lacked masculine affection and grew to desire that which you did not have, that which a mother alone could not provide.”

Thread smugly turns to the darker woman, pointing that finger yet again. “I told you that boy needed a father!”

“And I told you that was none of your business,” snaps Mrs. Hawthorne. “I lost my brother and my husband in one day. I had much more pressing concerns than romance.”

If Gale really is making this shit up, he’s needlessly creating a lot of drama. The look on his face speaks volumes about his guilt. But that same emotion creates a little pit in my stomach as those words sink in. “Wait, ‘lost’?” I press. “You mean…”

“Dead,” Katniss confirms, eyeing me irritably. It’s the first word she’s said in a long while. “Mine explosion. There was nothing left to bury, neither of them.”

“I…” My mouth is suddenly dry as a cottonball. “I’m sorry.” Sorry for her loss, sure, but at the moment it’s mostly that I’m feeling like a massive tool for mockingly asking her if her mommy and daddy would no longer love her. There was so much I didn’t know when I made that flippant remark.

“Sure you are,” scoffs Katniss, returning her eyes to the screen before they fall to her lap.

“There’s no overstating the importance of a stable family unit, Mrs. Hawthorne,” insists Alma, returning to the topic at hand with her usual lack of sensitivity. “Of course no one would have you marry for the wrong reasons, but unfortunately your son’s sexuality may have been collateral damage of that explosion.” Gale looks like he wants to say more, his gaze darkening considerably, but he shakes his head and drops his eyes to the floor.

“Now, Peeta,” starts Alma, “Do you want to share with your parents what you shared in group yesterday?”

“Not really,” the blonde mutters.

“Well that _is_ what we’re here for,” she encourages him. “Sharing. Healing.”

Eyes anywhere but the camera, Peeta fidgets a moment before admitting, “I believe I have trust issues with women because my mom used to beat me and insult me when I made mistakes.” Shrugging resignedly, he looks up. “I never felt good enough for her. Maybe I never thought I’d be good enough for any woman.”

The woman in question purses her lips, but contrition is evident in her tone. “I’m sorry, Peeta. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Mr. Thread scoffs dismissively. “If the kid wasn’t such a fucking flamer, it wouldn’t have hurt his poor sissy feelings in the first place.”

“That is totally uncalled for,” snaps Mr. Mellark.

“Well excuse me, but we’re paying a lot of money to get these kids fixed, not sit around and listen to flimsy theories all day,” rants Thread. “That’s a ridiculous excuse for a root - has nothing to do with it. Katniss’s father coddled her, refused to discipline her, and it sure didn’t make her like men.” 

“He didn’t refuse to discipline me, stepfather,” Katniss parries icily. “He just wasn’t violent. It’s a perfectly legitimate parenting choice.”

“Oh, yeah?” he snorts. “How much you wanna bet those peacekeepers up in lumber land never laid a hand on that mouthy dyke beside you?”

“Mr. Thread!” interjects Alma. “I don’t find that appropriate!”

“That’s none of your business,” my mother answers coolly, looking dead into her webcam. “Maybe before you start criticizing how everyone else raises their children, you should try having some of your own.”

Thread shakes his head with an ironic snort. “I see where she gets it from.” Suddenly he’s on his feet, spouting, “I’ve heard enough of this crap.” Bending down, he glares into the camera. “When you get back home, Katniss, you’d better have this gay thing out of your system, got it?”

“I got it,” she mumbles, blinking down.

“If you fuck up, we’re not taking you back again,” he assures her. “You’ll be out of this family, for good.”

“Family,” she scoffs under her breath, barely loud enough for me to hear it. Her stepfather is long gone, anyway.

Mrs. Thread slowly rises. “Katniss, honey,” she starts, “take him with a grain of salt. He’s had a rough few weeks.”

“So have I,” snorts her daughter.

“Blood is thicker than he knows. And after everything you did for us…” The blonde trails off, eyes distant. “You carried this family, and you will always have a place in it. A place in our hearts.” As Katniss chuckles darkly, her mom’s lips pull into a tight line. “But we all want you to have the best life possible, which is why you’re there. Alma and Cinna, they can help you.”

The girl cocks her head, eyes narrowed challengingly. “Do you really think you know what’s best for me, _mother_?”

“Stay the course, Katniss,” she replies calmly. “We’re really looking forward to having you back home. Prim asks about you every day.” Having already figured out that this is a sore spot, I turn to the girl beside me in time to see her wince. This time, I do put my hand on her back. She glances my way with a hint of surprise, but otherwise doesn’t react.

Katniss lingers a moment after her mother exits, staring at the screen as though she might magically reappear. Then, merely twitching her eyebrows neutrally, she stands and leaves the room. Why wouldn’t she? She has no reason to stay.

*** 

The fourth member of our subgroup is nowhere to be seen when we step out onto the veranda after the conclusion of our therapy session. It makes my brow crease with mild concern despite knowing that she’s probably sulking back in the Barbie barf room. Peeta peels off to go to the boys’ quarters, but Gale ambles forward until his arms are resting on the railing, gazing out at the countryside beyond the driveway.

Stepping up beside him, I nudge his leg with my hip. “Hey, gorgeous,” I grin facetiously. Gale looks me up and down, seemingly unsure whether or not to take me seriously. So am I, admittedly. I roll my eyes. “Why are you here?”

Blinking in confusion, Gale asks, “What do you mean?”

“You’re eighteen?” I prod. When he nods, I reason, “Then you can leave any time you want to. You obviously think this program is bullshit. Why stay?”

“To stay on good terms with the family, partly,” he shrugs. “Mostly to watch out for Katniss.”

I find this simultaneously sweet and aggravating. My head falls to the side as I size him up with narrowed eyes. “I think she can handle herself just fine on her own.”

“Familial instinct,” smiles Gale. “I can’t help it.”

Digging a track into the wooden railing with one of my nails, I mutter, “That’s more than I’d do for my family.”

“She’s my best friend,” he tells me. “I’d do just about anything for her.”

Regaining eye contact, I tilt my head drolly. “Clearly.”

His smoky eyes narrow suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I grunt. “Forget it.” Waving him off, I jam my hands in my pockets and stroll around the side of the house to find the lanky asshole. But it's not her that's there to greet me when I enter the pink kingdom.

“Hey, chicky,” smirks Cressida from where she lazes on her bed. “You all therapied out?”

“It was an experience,” I shrug.

“Not looking forward to it myself,” she admits. “You got the hicks and I got Proposition Hate.”

“That's probably ‘cause my parents _are_ hicks,” I smile despite myself. “I'm likely from a tinier town than they are.”

Cress closes one eye, peering at me thoughtfully with the other. “I thought Canadians were supposed to be down with the gays.”

Mr. Thread's remark comes to mind, and I can't help but snort. “Yeah, well, we're supposed to be polite too.”

A knowing smirk curls her lips. “Touché.”

Shifting in place, I casually float, “Have you seen Katniss?”

“No,” she answers, eyeing me deliberately. “Why?”

“She left the session early,” I shrug. “Just thought maybe she came back here.”

The blonde waves me off. “Don't worry about her. She’s a tough kid.”

“Mm.” Biting my lip, I feel my brow furrow as I track my eyes over to the empty bed on the far right of the room.

“You okay, Jangles?” she asks, cutting through the static in my brain. “You seem a little stressed.”

Eyebrow arching, I purr, “Think you could help me with that?”

Cressida grins from ear to ear. “Could I ever.”

***

It takes me a few minutes of wandering the property to locate Katniss, still unsure why I'm bothering to do so. Finally, I spot her sitting just over the crest of a hill, out of sight of the house but with a good view of the rest of the acreage. Sighing with relief, I approach her with cautious, steady steps through the long grass. Despite my efforts, I'm making a lot of noise and I'm sure she can hear me, especially given her hunter’s instincts. But she doesn't react at all, doesn't even turn her head to see who's coming.

Taking my cues from her, I settle silently on the ground about six inches from her side. Katniss finally looks over, throwing me some suspicious side eye before shuffling over a little. Chuckling to cover the slight twinge I feel at the unspoken insult, I tease her, “What am I, contagious?” When she shrugs as though that’s a distinct possibility, I fire back, “I thought that was you.”

Though I turn my face from her ensuing glower to dig in the pocket of my awful pink cardigan, I can practically feel the hair singeing off the back of my scalp. As I pull out Cressida’s baggie and lighter, those burning eyes widen with surprise. “Where did you get that?”

“Cressida. She thought I might need it after family therapy.” Lighting a joint, I give it a quick suck before offering it to the brunette. “But, I figure you probably need it the most right now.”

Reaching around my fingers to pinch it delicately, she asks, “How did she get her hands on this?”

“You forget it’s legal here, brainless.” Surveying the property, I add, “In Colorado, I mean. It’s not even legal in B.C., what a joke. It’s our biggest cash crop.” Katniss chuckles before she can finish her toke, expelling half a mouthful of smoke.

I let that hang there for a second before probing, “You okay, Everdeen?” The girl says nothing, but catches my eye, blinking away after a fleeting moment. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t talk much,” mutters Katniss, staring blankly at the mountains rising up beyond the city to the west.

“And when you do, you speak purely in insults.”

That earns me another glare. “You’re no better, Axe Wound,” she shoots back before inhaling again. I’m really bad at this.

Attempting to portray more confidence than I feel, I shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe this’ll at least help you unwind a little,” I suggest. “Make you feel good.”

Slowly expelling the smoke, she wrinkles her nose. “Pot makes people stuff their faces. Orgasms make people feel good.”

My first impulse is to offer her one of those instead, really throw her for a loop. Flirting is my first language. But she’s never going to open up if I keep needling her, so I just reach for the joint instead. Before putting it to my lips, I respond to her obvious statements with one of my own. “I couldn’t help but notice your stepfather’s a huge asshole.”

“Tell me about it,” huffs Katniss. After a long moment of staring into the distance, she finally does start to talk, eyes glazed over. “My dad never would have sent me here.” Pulling her knees into her chest, she hugs them with a sigh.

“Oh, yeah?” I prod neutrally, prompting her to continue.

She gives the Rockies a forlorn nod. “When we were out in the woods one time, he told me, ‘As long as you can find yourself, you’ll never starve.’ He meant the plant I’m named after, but I like to think it was more than that.” Turning her head to focus on me, she states, “He loved me for who I was, just wanted me to be happy.”

Raising a lazy eyebrow, I follow my latest puff with a pass. “Were you happy?”

“Kind of,” she shrugs. “Until I got caught.”

“Doing what?”

“More like ‘doing who,’” she smirks ironically, eyes on the horizon again. “I had this friend in town. Mayor’s daughter, actually – her family was well off and sometimes they’d buy my kills.” Shaking the clutter from her brain, she concludes, “Anyway, I guess we just spent a little too much time together.”

“Or not enough,” I wink, poking my elbow between her ribs. The resulting smile is half-hearted. “Her parents didn’t care?”

“About the gay? Not really, they’re city folk,” shrugs Katniss. “I think they were more upset she was dating white trash.” Raising an arm into her field of view, she examines her olive skin in the sunlight. “Well, half-white trash.”

“Clever,” I snigger.

Katniss smirks proudly as she prepares to take another puff. “I thought so.”

Watching intently as she lethargically exhales the smoke, I pry, “Were you in love with her?”

Her head drolly rolls to the side, eyes evaluating my expression. They fill with resignation while she sighs, butting out the joint on a nearby rock. As she hands over the roach, she points out, “Does it matter?” To me, it does. She’s standing to leave, but I intercept her hand, nabbing it before she can walk away. But Katniss is clearly done with this conversation, swiftly shaking her hand free.

“Careful,” she warns me as she backs away, but I don’t miss the teasing undertone. “I could report you for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for the beta read.


	3. Exes and Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told ya'll I was still working on this. Oh ye of little faith.
> 
> This chapter is quite short, but the next one will not be. As anyone who has watched the movie could predict.

When I head to the bathroom before going to bed that evening, Katniss is brushing her teeth at one of the sinks. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror, forcing mine away and making my stomach flip. As I settle in one of the stalls, I kick myself mentally. She’s the awkward one, not me. I stared her down while taking my fucking clothes off, what the hell is my problem?

Forcing myself into a confident posture as I flush, I exit the stall and nod at her in the mirror with a sly grin. “Brainless.”

Pausing her movement, she narrows her eyes and says around the brush, “Axe Wound.”

My ensuing chuckle is genuine, and if I’m not mistaken there’s a lighthearted glint in her eyes too. Lathering up my hands, I peer over at her as she spits in the sink. Turning on the faucet, she scoops her hand under the water to rinse her mouth. The water drips from her lips as she reaches down for more, and I can’t help but stare. Stare at the fullness of her lips, her defined jaw, the flaking black nail polish on her long, slender fingers...

Fuck. I’m in trouble.

My hormones picked a wonderful fucking time to show up. I’m lying on my back as Katniss crawls into the bed beside mine, but I have to turn over because the heat in my stomach migrates to my cheeks, and even in the dark I’m afraid it will give away my thoughts. How I wanted to move closer to her at the sinks, brush up against her side. How I can’t wait to share another joint with her and feel sparks fly between our grazing fingers, put my mouth where hers has just been.

It’s one thing to strip in front of girls to get a reaction. To playfully flirt like I do with Cressida, burn off a little steam. But I have the feeling that if I tried to burn anything off with Katniss, I’d catch alight with a fire that could consume me whole. Something in her eyes makes me feel like I could lose control. Makes me want to. The Cressida thing, that’s harmless. This is dangerous.

I fall into some place between sleep and waking, drifting loosely in between as my mind wanders. Wanders a couple steps, to Katniss’s bed. She’s everywhere. Filling my nostrils with her sweet, earthy musk. Tangling our legs and drawing me impossibly closer. Holding my hand as her lips softly brush mine. Then less softly.

Still curled on my side, I let the scene roll on. Not fighting it, as I should, but enjoying it. The warmth in my gut is spreading downward when a small gasp from in front of me pulls me fully into the present.

Eyes blinking open, I squint into the night and see a tiny movement under Cressida’s blankets, hear a soft telltale rustling. My cheeks burn again and I squeeze my eyes closed. _That_ is not helping. Both because I admittedly have a bit of a thing for her, and because it’s giving me ideas. I perhaps would be bold enough to do the same, except the subject of my fantasies is lying a few feet away and that’s just awkward. But I do need to take care of this. The slight catches in Cress’s breathing are only intensifying the pulling feeling between my legs and there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep now if I don’t.

Where? The bathroom? Still a chance someone could walk in and disrupt me. Plus I think someone took a dump in there not long ago, it smells like a fucking dairy farm. Running over the house’s layout in my head, I settle on a place. Rolling out of bed, I purposely avoid eye contact with Cressida as I tiptoe across the ungodly pink carpet and jam my feet into my shoes. Sneaking across the porch outside our room, I slip into the house and make my way to Alma’s office.

Shutting the door so softly it doesn’t even click, I tiptoe over to the couch on one side of the office and ease myself down onto the cushions. Reclining back, I pull up the standard-issue pink nighty and slide my hand down to soothe the smoldering ache. A long sigh leaves my lips at the sensation of relief, but I hold back on any other noises just in case. It can’t even be a minute later that I do hear a muted moan, and I squeeze my lips tightly together, only to realize they are already firmly closed.

Snapping upright, I push my nighty back down and listen carefully. It’s hard with my heart pounding in my ears. I’m starting to think I imagined it when I hear a quiet whimper coming from Alma’s desk. Maybe it’s the voyeur in me that makes me sneak closer instead of running away, or maybe it’s the snooping curiosity. Either way, when I get to the desk and peer through the glass top, I find more than I bargained for: Peeta lying on his back, PJ pants at his ankles, hands at his groin and squeezing fistfuls of straight dark hair that can only be Gale’s.

The shock of seeing the guy I thought was faking gay taking it throat-deep makes me gasp, and I’m so close now that they both hear me. “Oh my god, please don’t tell,” Peeta begs as Gale scrambles to his feet, leaving the twink’s dick right out in the open.

Turning away, I squeeze my eyes shut. “Oh my god, ew,” I say to myself, shaking my head like it’s an Etch-a-Sketch and I can erase that image. “Ew.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Gale hisses urgently. “You’ll wake Coin and Boggs.” Pushing out a breath to compose myself, I turn back around and see Peeta rounding the desk to join Gale, looking equally alarmed. Still in shock, my eyes are bouncing between the two boys when Gale speaks again, calmer this time. “Johanna, please don’t say anything,” he implores. “If not for me, for Katniss.”

I scoff. “Is that supposed to be motivation? I hate her.” Gale’s doubtful look and Peeta’s tiny smirk make me cross my arms defensively. “I wouldn’t, anyway. Snitches get stitches.”

“Thank you,” Peeta sighs in relief.

“Yeah, whatever, please just never show me your dick again.”

Gale squints, looking vaguely amused. He and Katniss share so many mannerisms, it’s uncanny. “And you seriously thought you were straight?”

“Suck it, Gale,” I retort. Giving that a second to sink in, I break my straight face with a wink and turn to stroll out. “Have fun.”

***

We have the next morning off while the other group does their family therapy session, but Alma has been nagging us about practicing with our flashcards. I have no real interest in the cards and don’t see how they’re supposed to change my sexual orientation, but I do want an excuse to spend more time with Katniss. She raises an eyebrow when I suggest it, but shrugs and slips a bookmark in her novel, claiming she has nothing better to do anyway. 

We pass the deck back and forth a few times, talking little aside from answering the questions. Katniss isn’t much of one for breaking the ice, so I decide to. Tapping the cards on the hay bale I’m sitting on, I admit, “I’m really not sure what the point of this is. How are these supposed to make us straight?”

“You’re the one who suggested it,” she points out. “What, you thought you’d give it one more try?”

“Nah,” I drawl, “I just wanted to stare at your gorgeous face.” I throw Katniss a cheeky wink and she rolls her eyes. Handing over the deck, I tack on, “Your cousin’s totally gay, by the way.”

Katniss squints as she takes the cards. “He tell you that?”

“No, his mouth was kind of occupied.” When her eyes start to grow in understanding, I elaborate, “He had Bread Boy’s baguette down his throat, I swear to god.”

She grimaces, holding up a silencing hand. “Okay, I did not need to picture that, Jo.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly pleasant for me either.”

Katniss shakes her head as though to clear it, much like I did the night before. “When was this?”

“Last night. Caught them in Alma’s office.”

She squints once more, and I drop my eyes as I realize my mistake. “What were you doing in Alma’s office?”

Shifting, I bite my lip and fib, “Snooping.” Usually I’m a good liar, but given the circumstances I’m feeling more awkward than usual. Katniss’s incredulous look proves just how unconvincing that was. “What? I like to know my enemies.”

Katniss snorts and mercifully lets it go. “That why you asked all those questions yesterday?” At first I wonder if she’s serious, but she cracks a slight smile, allowing me to relax.

“Nah, you’re not an enemy.”

“But we’re not friends, either,” she points out. “Are we?”

“According to Alma's heterosexual friendship club, we are,” I quip, nodding at the deck in her hand.

“You did come to my aid yesterday,” she muses to her feet. Looking up, she continues, “I don't know that we're actually friends, but possibly the word ‘allies’ would be accurate.”

She’s so fucking adorable. God. Covering that train of thought with a smirk, I tell her, “‘Allies’ I can live with.”

Our alliance deepens over the next couple of weeks. Dare I say, it almost starts to feel like a friendship. We still bicker, of course - it’s me and Katniss. But it’s more playful banter than anything. Doing chores and activities together becomes a lot less painful as Katniss slowly lets her walls down. She still doesn’t talk much, but at least she doesn’t look like she wants to skewer me with an arrow every time I open my mouth.

One evening when we’re stuck doing dishes after dinner, I make another casual attempt at conversation. “So you miss your friends from home?”

“Yeah,” snorts Katniss, plucking a glass from the dishrack. “I just can’t decide who I miss more, the grunting apes in the Letterman jackets or the blooming cheerleaders.” Her smirk fades slightly as she dries the glass. Putting it in the cupboard, she makes fleeting eye contact and admits, “I don’t have any friends.” When I give only a sympathetic mouth twitch in return, she adds with a shrug, “Other than Gale and Madge.”

That halts my progress halfway through washing a plate. Deliberately resuming my movements, as I dip the plate in the rinse sink I infer, “Madge is your girlfriend?”

“Not really a girlfriend,” mutters Katniss. “I miss her, but… it was more of a comfort thing.”

Thankfully my lewd smirk masks what would be a smile of relief. “So she was your fuck buddy.”

“More like a friend with benefits.” Katniss squints at the dish she’s drying. “I think she might have wanted more, but…” She trails off with a shrug.

“What?” Winking, I bump my hip into the side of her thigh. “You just wanted that booty?”

Unfortunately, my levity doesn’t seem to be rubbing off on Katniss, who’s straight-faced as ever. “I didn’t really connect with her that way.”

“You weren't that into her,” I conclude.

That finally gets a reaction out of Katniss. A defensive one. “She’s attractive, she’s just not really my type.”

Sensing an opening, I lean in and purr, “And what is your type, Miss Everdeen?”

Expecting Katniss to blush or pull away, I’m the one who ends up flushed when she smirks, “I guess I’m in the middle of figuring that out.” Tucking my face into my collar, I resume washing and try to will the redness from my ears. After a moment of silence, Katniss mercifully redirects the conversation. “What about you? You miss your boyfriend?”

Tucking my tongue in my cheek, I drawl, “I miss his tongue, on occasion.”

“That can easily be replaced,” she deadpans.

No longer caught off guard, I grin and lean in enough to brush shoulders. “Are you volunteering?”

“Never said that, Mason.”

Reflecting seriously on her question, I admit, “I miss my brother and sister sometimes. But at least my parents let me talk to them when I call home.”

Katniss stiffens and turns to me with a piercing gaze. “Your point being?”

“I just meant…” What did I even mean? “It must be rough, that’s all. You’re close with Prim?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re best friends. She’s only twelve.” Eyes on the counter, Katniss swallows. “But I love her more than anything.”

Studying her closely, I take my time responding. “Why is your stepfather such a prick about it?”

She scoffs. “I don’t think he knows how to be anything else.”

“Why would your mom even marry a guy like that?” I ask. “He sounds so different from your dad.”

Katniss sighs, drumming her fingers on the marble. It’s a moment before she answers, “After he died, she fell into a really bad depressive episode. She was basically non-functional for a couple of years, and we barely got by. I had to raise Prim by myself, feed a family of three.”

“At eleven,” I state, making sure I’m hearing this correctly.

“Yeah. The foster care system is a mess, so we didn’t tell anyone. Aunt Hazelle and Gale helped where they could, but they’d just lost my uncle too.”

Nodding to myself, I infer, “So let me guess, Romulus Thread swooped in and saved you from poverty?”

“He doesn’t have loads of money,” Katniss clarifies. “It was more stability that he provided. For my mom, that is.” Nibbling her lip, she stares off into the distance. “She needed someone to lean on, and I was too angry with her to be that person.”

“And now she’s codependant on him.”

“Yeah,” snorts Katniss. “It’s so fucking unhealthy. She’d probably stay with him even if he was beating _her_.”

It’s impossible to miss what she’s implying. Not that it surprises me, given his behavior in the one therapy session he attended. Swallowing the tightness in my throat, I place a gentle hand on her lower back. Katniss only twitches her mouth in acknowledgement of the gesture. Eventually she catches my eye and admits, “In some ways, this is better than home. I don’t have to worry about him coming after me.”

Cautiously I probe, “Does he ever… ‘come after’ Prim?”

“If he did, I’d kill him,” replies Katniss, matter-of-fact as ever. “But no, he likes Prim. I’m the one with the ‘attitude problem.’”

“Not entirely inaccurate,” I tease.

She gives me a half-hearted nudge to the ribs. “Shut up.”

Looking her over a moment, I observe, “You really do love her more than anything.” Her eyes drop, causing an ache in my chest. The forced separation must be awful. Thinking this through, I suggest, “Maybe you could call her, without him knowing.”

Katniss shakes her head. “She doesn’t have a cell phone. And if this place shows up on the call display at home, he might cut me off. I can’t take that chance.”

“Prim can delete the call display,” I point out. “She’s twelve, not two.”

“If she actually answers, or happens to see it first and clues in it was me. But he’s home a lot of the time. When he’s not drinking at the Legion.”

My eyebrows arch. “He was in the army?” That makes so much sense, come to think of it. I snort. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” agrees Katniss, tone dripping with bitterness.

The landline wasn’t even what I’d had in mind, so I return to my suggestion. “What if there’s another way?” She cocks an eyebrow and I specify, “All our cell phones are locked up in Alma’s office.”

Katniss dismisses this with a head shake. “It’s even worse if my number shows up.”

“That’s not what I meant, brainless.” She narrows her eyes and I roll mine. “Katniss, don’t be daft.”

It’s another moment before her mouth falls open in understanding. “Your phone?”

“My snooping was so rudely interrupted that one time, but if we can find them, yeah. You can call Prim from mine.” She looks unconvinced, so I continue, “Even if he answers or she forgets to delete the call display, it’ll be a random area code they won’t know.”

Katniss chews her lip in thought. “Won’t it cost you an arm and a leg, cross-border roaming and all that?”

“Legs are overrated.” Her doubtful squint makes me shrug. “It’s worth it.”

“What’s it to you?”

Hoping another blush doesn’t give me away, I answer honestly enough. “I guess I’d just like to see you a little less miserable.”

Tonight is actually a very convenient time to alleviate her misery. There’s some kind of church song singalong going on around the campfire. Mandatory, of course. The others have already headed over; we heard them go by only minutes ago. We have an excuse to be late, so this is perfect timing. At least, so long as we don’t take much longer than expected.

Blazing through the rest of the dishes, I leave Katniss to finish the drying and promise her I’ll be right back. In the pink kingdom, I drag my duffel bag out from under the bed and dig out my whittling knife, still concealed in its hidden compartment. Katniss has just finished when I return, and we sneak over to Alma’s office together. In terms of locked places in which our cell phones may reside, we spot a metal cupboard, two filing cabinets, and the lower drawers in Alma's desk.

“Where do you think?” asks Katniss. “Cupboard?”

“Maybe.” The filing cabinets don’t seem likely. “Let’s try the desk first.” I make this suggestion only because it’s easier to hide behind. As Peeta and Gale were so kind to demonstrate for me.

The drawer on the left pops open with only a little fiddling, but there’s nothing of interest in there. The one on the right is stickier, but when I get it open we’re rewarded with a pile of phones. “Jackpot!” I hiss in triumph. As I reach in to pluck mine out of the drawer, Katniss surprises me by doing the same. “Thought you didn’t want to use yours.”

“Prim may have texted me from the computer,” explains Katniss. “She does that, on occasion.”

We don’t talk while we wait for our phones to power up. Katniss chomps on her nails while I tap my foot impatiently. I’m still waiting for mine when Katniss sticks hers in front of my face. There, on the lock screen, is a picture of her kissing the cheek of a beautiful blond girl sat on her lap. My stomach drops for a second, until I realize she’s way too young to be Katniss’s girlfriend. “Wait, that’s Prim?”

Immediately I cringe at how incredulous that sounded. But Katniss’s slight chuckle and eye roll as she unlocks the phone suggest she’s not offended. Something tells me I’m not the first to react that way. “My dad’s side is mixed race,” she explains, unfazed. “Prim got all his white genes, I guess.” Her brow furrows as she scrolls her thumb up the screen.

Peeking over to get a look, I inquire, “What is it?”

Though she automatically turns the phone into her chest so I can’t look, Katniss freely admits, “Texts from Madge. She’s worried. Apologized for getting us caught.” Eyes back on the screen, Katniss adds, “She’s seen the bruises, so.”

The context in which she’s seen them is not hard to suss out. Still, I try not to be a jealous douchebag. “Well, go on. You'd better tell her you’re okay.” Katniss blinks and I tack on, “Relatively speaking.”

Considering this a moment, Katniss shrugs and turns off the phone. “She knows I’m here. Besides, we’re on a family plan. Can’t risk them looking up my activity.” Dropping it back in the drawer, she gives me an ironic smile. “Same reason I’m staying off the interwebs. Data usage.” I’m about to point out she can text Madge from my phone when she sasses me, “Well, are you gonna let me call my sister or not?” So I hand over my phone silently and watch as she punches in the digits from memory.

Faint rings fill the air as Katniss puts the phone to her ear. The fourth one is cut off partway through, interrupted by a muffled female voice. Katniss’s face melts in relief and she whispers, “Prim, it’s me. Don’t say anything.” Several moments later, she sighs, “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?” Prim speaks again and she gives a satisfied nod. “Good.” As she continues to listen, I pick up on a faint tremor in Katniss’s lip. Her throat bobs and she swallows hard. “I miss you too.”

Deciding to give them some privacy, I nod a farewell to Katniss and get to my feet. She looks like she’s about to say something, but stops, her attention on the conversation. As it should be. Instead she returns the nod, and I slip out of the office.

Down at the campfire, they’re singing that song that sounds like an orgasm and I can barely keep it together as I approach. Plopping down on a bench beside Cressida, I elbow her in the side and thrust my fingers in and out of a loose fist as Alma leads the chorus, “Yes Lord, yes Lord, yes yes Lord amen!”

Cressida snorts into her palm, eyes alight. Once she can safely pull her hand back, she whispers, “Where’s tall dark and handsome?”

“Oh, probably moping,” I lie, rolling my eyes. “The usual.” She squints at me, so I redirect with a wink, “Why? You miss her?”

Cressida waggles her eyebrows and thankfully lets it go, at least until Katniss joins us a couple songs later. I’m almost at the end of the bench, so Katniss is tight up against me when she sits down. I start to shift to give her some space, but before I can move she wraps her arms around me, reeling me into her. “Thank you,” she whispers as I stiffen in shock. My eyelids flutter as much as my heart as they fall closed. Her breath tickles my ear, setting it on fire again. “Thank you.” With that, she slumps down and rests her head on my shoulder, still clinging to my side and trapping my arms against my body.

Feeling Cressida’s eyes on me, I glance to my right and find her wearing a shit-eating grin. Not wanting to make this a thing, at least not in public, I kick her foot and shoot her a pointed glare. As the song ends and Alma plays the closing strains on her guitar, I cast her a wary glance. Expecting a harsh look and maybe even a verbal reprimand, I am as surprised as I am pleased when she only gives me an approving nod and smile. Breathing a sigh of relief, I smile back and give Katniss’s elbow an affectionate squeeze. Good old heterosexual friendship saving the day. Just gals being pals. Nothing to see here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is Trading My Sorrows by Darrell Evans, a staple in-joke for any church kid.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta read and the improvements it led to. <3


	4. Come to My Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied about this chapter being a lot longer. On the other hand, you didn't have to wait a year (or even a week) for it, so I think I'm doing pretty good here.

The following Saturday night, I walk into the bathroom to find Cressida and Katniss in regular clothes. Katniss is sat on the counter, trying not to blink while Cress stands between her knees, applying eyeliner. The sight makes my stomach gurgle.

“You obviously haven’t been paying attention in Alma’s classes, Kitty Kat,” Cressida chides.

“I’m not a make up kind of girl,” Katniss grouses, swinging one of her legs impatiently.

Cressida nabs her ankle and speaks sternly. “Hold still or I’ll poke your eye out.”

“That would be a shame,” I drawl from the doorway, catching their attention. “They’re beautiful eyes.” Neither girl seems to know whether to take me seriously, which is perfect. Also perfect, both smile at the sight of me. Prowling closer, I ask, “What’s with the after-hours practice?”

“We’re sneaking out,” says Katniss. “Get dressed.”

I tip my head. “But Alma…”

Katniss scoffs. “Fuck Alma.”

As I weigh my options, trying to determine the worst that could happen, Cressida slinks over to me. “Relax, Joey. They’re never gonna find about this. I mean, we’ve haven’t had fun in forever.” Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, she smirks, “And you know, we could use a little fun.”

Trying not to blush at the intimate gesture, I protest, “But what if we get caught?” Turning to Katniss, I point out, “What’ll your stepdad do to you?”

“We’re not gonna get caught,” Katniss assures me. “We’re not amateurs.” When I continue to hesitate, she shrugs, “Your loss. C’mon, Cress. Finish me up.”

“I would if you’d fucking stop blinking,” Cress grumbles as she moves back between Katniss’s legs. Her own makeup is impeccable, though obviously different from the type Alma made us practice. She does an excellent smoky eye. “You’re not getting any at the club if your makeup is terrible. Girls are particular.”

“We’re going to a gay bar?” I ask, my interest suddenly extra piqued.

“ _We_ are,” Katniss corrects me. “Your weak ass is staying home, remember?”

Somehow it’s this, the idea that they’re both going and I’m missing out, that spurs me to action. “Fine, fine,” I grumble.

“That’s more like it,” grins Cressida. “Get your clothes on. Or not.”

***

It’s almost midnight when the three boys decide to join us at the gate, where we’re waiting for our mysterious ride. “And I thought women were the ones who were supposed to be late,” Cressida teases them as they approach.

Nodding his head over to Gale, Peeta gripes, “This one took forever doing his hair.”

“‘Cause you kept messing it up?” I wink.

Peeta and Gale both shoot me dirty looks while Finnick giggles, not bothering to hide it even when Gale redirects his glare his way. “What? It’s not like _I_ didn’t know. I’m a light sleeper.”

“So much for no inappropriate behavior in the bedrooms,” I mutter.

“Well it turned out the office wasn’t a safe place, either,” Gale shoots back. Cressida whistles, and I’m considering my next retort when I see movement up near the house.

“Shit!” I hiss. “Hit the ground!” Everyone knows what that means, and we all smack into the ground so hard and fast, we'll be picking gravel out of our chins for a week. Tilting my head up just a little, I keep an eye on the moving figure as it comes closer. It takes a moment, but my jaw drops open as I recognize the last member of our group hustling down the dirt driveway.

“Mermaid?” I gasp, eyes wide as I get to my feet. The others follow, turning their heads and peeling themselves off the ground. Annie’s quite the goody two shoes, certainly not someone I expected to join us on this illicit field trip. I wouldn’t have invited her, either. She strikes me as a security risk, the type to narc under pressure. “What are you doing here?”

“I invited her,” answers Finnick, stepping up to sling an arm around her shoulders. “She needs this as much as the rest of us.”

Gale crosses his arms, but before he can say anything the rumble of an oncoming engine steals the floor. A pair of headlights slowly comes into view, forcing me to shield my eyes as they approach. As a van pulls up beside us, the door slides open and a grizzly voice hisses, “Come on, hurry up!” While we pile in, the man continues to urge us, “Move it, get in!”

“Oh, we have a nice big group tonight!” remarks a second male voice, this one much higher in timbre. He sounds even more flamboyant than Finnick. I’m last in the door and just falling back into a seat beside Katniss when he calls out, “Okay, fasten your seatbelts!”

Once the van is moving, the high-pitched man in the passenger’s seat turns and addresses the group. “Hi! I’m Eddie Abernathy, this is Haymitch Abernathy. Glad to have you with us.” He’s fully done up in drag, with lots of makeup and an orange wig, fake tits and all. Digging in his bra, he pulls out a collection of IDs. “You’re all gonna need one of these. Might not be an exact match, but…”

As Eddie shuffles through the cards and starts passing them out, Haymitch peeks over his shoulder and asks, “This your first jailbreak?”

Finnick speaks for all of us when he asks, “Uh, who are you guys, exactly?”

“We used to work under Alma Coin,” explains Haymitch. Then he chuckles and clarifies, “Not in the Biblical sense.”

“Until we fell in love and realized what a crock the whole thing was.”

Haymitch bobs his head in thought. “Coin thinks she’s helping people, doing the right thing. But all she’s helping them do is live a lie.”

“So, wait,” I break in, “you’re ex-ex-gays?”

“That’s right, honey,” Eddie concurs with a flourish and a grin. “Living proof it doesn’t work.”

“What a surprise,” Katniss murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.

“We’re just trying to provide you all with a balanced perspective, to see that there are options,” continues Eddie. “The world is changing. Even if your families don’t accept you, it’s becoming easier and easier to find new family. People who will love you for who you are.”

Jaw tightening, Katniss speaks up. “And what if we want to keep our families?”

Eddie looks on her with sympathy, which he doesn’t know is a terrible move. “That takes a lot of patience, and a lot of pain. But meeting other people who are like you, who can support you, it helps.” When her expression doesn’t change, he tells her, “If nothing else, let tonight be a window into what your life could be like if you simply embraced your identity and lived to make yourself happy.”

Snorting inwardly, Katniss twitches her eyebrows and shakes her head. Of course. Her sense of familial duty is far too strong for that. Leaning closer, I softly ask, “You don’t know much about that, do you?”

An ironic smile curls her lips. “I used to.”

Our guides lead the charge when we pull up to the nondescript building, grabbing each other’s hands and striding confidently for the door. The rest of us follow with various levels of confidence and enthusiasm. Bringing up the rear, Cressida gives the dawdling Katniss a soft kick to the butt. “I’ve been here before,” she says to both of us. “Nothing like the big clubs in Denver. Nothing scary.”

“Probably like the cabaret bar in Prince George,” I muse.

“You made out with girls at a gay bar and thought you were straight?” Katniss shakes her head. “And you call me brainless.”

“It’s not like a gay bar gay bar, it’s ‘gay-friendly,’” I correct her.

“So, the gay bar,” she reiterates.

“How would you know? Have you ever even been to a gay bar?”

“I’m underage,” she grumbles.

“That didn’t stop either of us,” Cressida teases her.

“Aw, we get to pop her cherry, Cress,” I coo. “That’s so cute.”

“Fuck off, Axe Wound.” Katniss gives me a little shove before striding ahead on her long legs. An unintended consequence of her storming away is the prime view it gives us of her butt in her dark skinny jeans.

Whistling under my breath, I mutter, “Damn.”

Cressida grins. “You’re telling _me_.”

Despite the pleasant scenery, we do speed up our steps to catch up to the rest of the group. I note with a smug smile that Peeta and Gale are holding hands as they enter the bar behind Eddie and Haymitch. The Californians are right on their heels, and as the three of us file in behind them Annie turns to Finnick and squawks, “You didn’t tell me you were taking me to a gay bar!”

With a grin equal parts charming and amused, Finnick chuckles, “Where else would we go?” Grabbing her hand, he tows her toward the bar. “Let’s get you a drink.”

“I don’t drink!” she protests fruitlessly as she’s dragged away.

Meanwhile, the boys are eyeing the dance floor and speaking in hushed tones. Flicking his eyes to his younger cousin, Gale asks her, “Katniss, you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she snaps. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Gale. Go do whatever you’re gonna do.” He arches his eyebrows at the outburst but shrugs and turns to Peeta, nodding out onto the floor. With him gone, someone else has to become the target of her sniping. It’s me, surprise surprise. As I’m adjusting the flannel hanging loosely from my shoulders, she snarks, “Is that meant to be lumberjack roleplay?”

Throwing her some side eye, I inform her, “It’s the height of lesbian fashion, brainless. You know that.”

“Dunno why,” she huffs. “It looks sloppy as fuck.”

“At least I can do my own eyeliner,” I retort, batting my perfectly rimmed eyelids. She just scowls at me. Maybe she’d be motivated to smile if she knew how attractive I find said scowl. It doesn’t help that she’s wearing a sleek black button-down blouse that’s undone at the top, offering an easy view of her cleavage. Especially to someone my height. Dragging my eyes back up to her face, I throw her a patronizing smirk. “Good luck. Girls are particular, remember?”

Her eyes burn a hole in the back of my head as I amble toward the bar, but I ignore it. After nabbing a beer, I scan the floor for a worthy dance partner. Finding no cute single girls on first glance, I make my way over to Finnick. He’s dancing up a storm by himself, fully in his element, and I can’t help but be drawn his way.

“Hey, mister,” I drawl as I sidle up to him.

“Hey yourself, Jo,” he beams. Proving itself contagious, his smile is spreading to my lips when he asks, “You having fun?”

“Sure. I already pissed Katniss off twice, always a good start.”

Finnick laughs. “You two sure have your own way of flirting. Never heard so many insults between two people who so obviously want to bone.”

Despite my suddenly flaming ears and cheeks, I wave him off. “Please,” I scoff. “I don’t want to fuck Katniss.”

“Then why are you bright red?” Damn it.

“Fine, whatever. She’s hot,” I admit. “But she wouldn’t. She doesn’t like me, she’s into Cressida.”

“Oh no, honey,” counters Finnick. “She is so totally into you. Like she’s already up your hoo ha, she’s so into you.”

“How would you know?” I demand with a challenging squint.

Finnick scoffs dramatically, as though I am being ridiculous. “Um, I have eyes?” Those seafoam green eyes float back toward the door, and mine follow. Katniss and Cress are wandering this way from the bar, edging closer to the dance floor. Sure, and it’s me she’s into. “Ask her to dance,” Finnick urges me, giving me a playful poke in the arm.

“No way. I’d like to live to see tomorrow. Besides,” I add, drawing him into me by the ends of his feather boa, “I already have a dance partner.”

Finnick laughs once more. “Oh, well lookit you, girly.” But he obliges, dancing closer to me and pretending to feel me up. Moments later we’re joined by Annie, drinking something that looks fruity and very alcoholic. She begins to grind up against Finnick’s rear, grinning at me from behind him. Taking my cues from her, I turn around and start gyrating up against his thighs. Finnick laughs ever louder, putting his hands on my hips. “Never thought I’d have me a couple of hoes.”

Glancing to the edge of the floor, I find the two remaining girls watching us, one amused and one confused. Jeez, hasn’t Katniss ever danced for fun? Unlikely, she barely seems to grasp the concept of fun at all. Seeing Cressida starting to make her way into the growing crowd, I get an idea. Yes, asking Katniss to dance would be disastrous, especially given her current mood. But maybe I can lure her onto the floor by demonstrating the fun that can be had.

Abandoning the Californians in the middle of the dance floor, I wriggle my way through the bodies until I come upon Cressida. Her smile grows as I slide up in front of her. “I was just coming to get you,” she says, placing her hands on my waist.

It’s hard not to give away the flutter that action caused in my lower belly, but I try. “Oh, yeah?” I inquire, cocking my head. “Is the straight edge one too boring for you?”

Cress chuckles lowly. “I already tried asking her to dance.” I barely have time to feel jealous before Cress adds, “She said she dances like a white girl.”

I can tell I’m getting a buzz already, because my snort comes out sounding more like a giggle. “Right, hickity split probably only did line dances back home.” Maybe she’ll change her mind. But if not, I am more than happy to dance with Cressida. So I loop my forearms around my new partner’s neck, pulling myself a little closer.

The song soon transitions into something more upbeat. Chancing a glance at a very pissed off looking Katniss, I turn around and grind back into Cressida like I did with Finnick. Palms on my hipbones, she presses forward, making that warm fuzzy feeling in my gut start to spread. Up into my head and… well, down. “Damn, Jangles, you know how to wiggle them hips,” she remarks, giving my side a squeeze.

When I flick my eyes back to where I last saw Katniss, she’s not there. Scanning the room, I barely catch a glimpse of her dark braid as she disappears down a hallway. Some suicidal impulse urges me to follow her, and I turn back around to face Cressida. “Hey, I gotta use the bathroom. Where is it?” Thankfully, she points down the same hallway. Perfect excuse. “Thanks.”

Katniss isn’t in the bathroom when I check, though a couple of gay boys and a drag queen are. Since that isn’t really out of the ordinary in gay bars, as far as I know, I check the men’s room too. Nothing. So I hustle the rest of the way down the hall, past a staff only area and out a side door. Still, I don’t see anything. Thinking I somehow missed her on the way out, I’m about to go back inside when a crash from around the corner catches my attention.

There’s a quiet scraping noise as I start to creep closer, but then it goes quiet and all I can hear is the pulsing music inside the club. When I poke my head around the corner I see Katniss sitting on an overturned milk crate, face in her palms. A few other crates lie strewn about; she must have knocked them over. Whether it was on purpose or not, I have no idea.

Deciding to brave what could be a bout of explosive anger, I step around the corner. “What’s wrong, brainless?”

Katniss startles and looks up. Though she glares at me, her voice sounds more tired and sad than it does angry when she says, “Leave me alone, Jo.”

“But that’s no fun.” Scooping up a crate, I plunk down beside her and kick her foot. “Come on, talk.” Her only response a blank stare, I sigh. “Look, it’s not what you think.”

Katniss scoffs, shaking her head. “What the hell do you know about what I’m thinking?”

Hoping I’m not way off base here, I declare, “I don’t like Cressida that way.”

A dark chuckle bursts from her lips as she stares out into the parking lot. “Well that’s a bald-faced lie.”

She’s not wrong. Not exactly. Rolling my eyes, I admit, “Okay, she’s hot, but you obviously think so too.” Katniss snorts but doesn’t argue that assertion. “It’s like what you said about Madge. I just… I’d go there, obviously, but I don’t feel that pull toward her. I don’t think about her-” About to reveal too much, I cut myself off.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Katniss, shaking her head once more. There’s a hint of bitterness behind her resigned tone. It clearly does matter. That shouldn’t make me happy, but it kind of does. Hey, I never said I was perfect.

Crossing my arms, I challenge her, “Then why are you being so pissy? Like more than usual?”

“It’s none of my business. Do what you want.”

“You want me to do what I want?”

“I couldn’t care less,” she sneers, finally looking up.

“What I _really_ want?”

Katniss rolls her eyes. “Screw you, Johan-” Those words are still falling from her tongue when I surge forward and press my lips against hers. I’ve caught her off guard, that much is clear. For a couple seconds, the only movement she musters is a comical bulging of her eyes. It’s not until I start to pull away that her hands shoot up to cup my cheeks and she reconnects our lips.

Sighing into the contact, I rest my hands on her flanks and return the kiss, revelling in the softness of her lips and tongue. God, I’ve missed kissing girls. Grabbing fistfuls of her blouse, I give one lip a little nip and drag it between my teeth, smiling at the tiny gasp it pulls from her lungs. Katniss pushes forward to close the gap again, but this time only presses a firm peck to my lips.

Sliding her fingers down my jawbone, Katniss retreats to her former slumped position on the crate. Elbows on her knees, she laces her fingers together and sighs. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says. “I was supposed to push this all down, go home and be straight.” Her jaw twitches with a snort. “For as long as I could stand it.”

“It wouldn’t be long.”

“I know,” mutters Katniss. She kicks a pebble at her feet, and as it skitters across the asphalt she straightens up. “That’s mostly why I’m upset, actually. I’d probably make out with Cressida too, whatever.” I want to point out that I was doing nothing of the kind, but I have a feeling she has more to say. Given how rare that is, I hold my tongue. I’m rewarded when she turns her head, eyes shining and vulnerable. “Why look through this ‘window’ to see what my life could be like when I’m going to have to go back in the closet anyway?”

She probably knows the answer. Placing a gentle hand on her knee, I probe, “Then why did you come?”

Katniss shrugs, averting her eyes once more. “I guess I just wanted to be free, if only for one night. And…” Seemingly mulling something over, she taps her foot nervously on the pavement. Barely holding back a smile, she admits, “I was hoping you’d come.” She looks up immediately to catch my reaction. Trying to hide my own smile would be useless, so I don’t. But I do throw her a wink so I don’t look like a total idiot. Clearing her throat, Katniss tucks a stray wisp of hair behind her ear as she tries rather unsuccessfully not to blush. “What about you? You’re not even trying to be straight anymore?”

Sitting back with a shrug, I reflect, “The longer I’m here, it seems more and more impossible. True Directions has made me gayer, for fuck’s sake.”

Katniss blinks. “Why?”

“So many hot girls around,” I quip. Katniss’s blush deepens but she shoots me a look, demanding a deeper answer. I shrug again. “And, you know, trying to fit this mold has made it so much clearer to me that I don’t fit. That I never could. I could ignore it before, but not now. So I’ve pretty much given up, embraced the gay.”

“You don’t care about what your parents will say?”

“I am, but… I think they’ll come around.”

Snorting bitterly, she gazes into the night again. “Lucky you.”

My heart aches. Like literally, there’s a cramp in my chest that I think could only be remedied by holding her close and making her problems magically disappear. Sadly, I’m no student of the dark arts. A growing tightness in my throat forces me to swallow before I say, “I wish I could tell you what to do, how to handle it. Or tell you everything will be okay.”

“I don’t like liars,” mumbles Katniss.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip my left hand under Katniss’s right and entwine our fingers. She looks down in surprise but squeezes my hand almost immediately. In contrast, it’s a long moment before she lifts her head and leans in again to kiss me gently. I part my lips to let her tongue slip past, and she releases this little sigh that may be from satisfaction or resignation. Maybe a bit of both. Pushing forward, she grasps the back of my neck with her free hand and kisses me harder. I’m not about to complain. I kiss her back until the hard line of her mouth melts into a smile. And I don’t stop.

Maybe everything doesn’t have to turn out okay. Maybe she just needs to not worry about any of that, for once. Tonight can be a window into our possible futures, like Eddie said. But it’s also a window of opportunity, of freedom. Perhaps the last one Katniss will have in a long time. And if this is what she needs to survive until the next one, I am happy to provide.

***

It’ll be a long day tomorrow. Today, I mean. Despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, my eyelids are drooping as we trudge up the driveway toward the big house. “Come on,” Katniss urges me, tugging my hand. “We’re almost there.”

Just as we mount the stairs to the porch, the light in Alma’s bedroom flicks on. “Alma’s coming!” hisses Finnick, and he takes off around the corner toward the boys’ quarters. Peeta and Gale follow hot on his heels while us girls scramble into our own room and jump in our beds. Moments later, the door creaks open and a flashlight pans across the room. It shines through the bedspread I’ve thrown over my head, making me wince as I try not to move a muscle.

When the click of the door and Alma’s retreating footsteps tell us the coast is clear, I sigh and toss back the bedspread. Katniss rolls out of bed beside me and leans down to peck me on the lips. “Goodnight,” she grins.

Oh, hell no. As she starts to straighten up, I pull her down on top of me and kiss her hard. She freezes up in surprise for half a second, then relaxes with a soft groan and shifts her weight so more of it is on me. We get completely lost in the kiss. The only thought I can manage is that this bedspread needs to get out of my way. I want to touch her with more than just my hands.

Cressida’s laugh is what pulls us back to the moment. “Get a room, lovebirds!” she teases us from the next bed over.

Katniss starts to stand up, embarrassed, but I stand with her and push her past her bed and into the bathroom. “Oh my god,” whispers Annie as I slide the door shut behind us.

Backing Katniss up against the counter, I grab the backs of her thighs to boost her onto it. Hands moving to her hips, I stand between her knees, the position I envied of Cressida earlier tonight. The counter only accentuates the height differential, but I don’t fucking care. Straining upward, I refuse to let the kiss end. Katniss doesn’t seem keen on it either, wrapping her legs around my waist to draw me closer. Locked together like that, we make out roughly for what feels like minutes on end. Who needs oxygen, anyway?

Turns out I do, and I have to settle for kissing under her jaw and down her neck while I recover my breath. Her soft moans only egg me on as I graze my thumbs over the skin just above her belt. Libido surging, I grip the hem of her blouse and blindly find the lowest button. Popping it open, I return to kissing her lips. She doesn’t protest. Not to the kissing part, anyway. As my hands move up to find the next button, she clasps both of them in hers. When I look up curiously, she says, “Maybe we shouldn’t do this here.”

“Where would you suggest?” I chuckle into another kiss. “Alma’s office where your cousin blew Bread Boy?”

Ducking her head to break the contact, Katniss clarifies, “I mean, maybe not now.” Somehow this doesn’t compute, and I find myself staring in confusion. She drops her eyes, bouncing her knee nervously. “I like you, Jo. I don’t…”

When she meets my gaze again and I spot the vulnerability in her eyes, it snaps me out of it. Jerking my hands back, I stammer, “S-sorry, I just assumed… you’ve been with girls before.”

“ _A_ girl. And that doesn’t mean I want to jump into bed the first time I kiss someone new.” Cheeks flaming, I try to back away. But in yet another confusing move, Katniss tightens her grip around my waist and holds me fast. Fuck, she can squeeze me with those thighs any day or night. Preferably my head. Trying to banish that thought, I squint to demand an explanation. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but it’s not the shy smile Katniss gives me. “I didn’t say I don’t want to kiss you.”

Is it too cheesy to say my grinchy heart grows three sizes in this moment? I’m blushing again, but not from shame this time. Brushing my fingers down her leg, I propose, “What about a different kind of jumping into bed?”

Responding to her blink of confusion, I grab Katniss’s hand and tug her down from the counter. Leading her back into the bedroom, I draw back my covers and lie down, opening my arms. Recognition registering in her features at the welcoming gesture, she smiles and joins me. Burrowing into her chest, I give her a squeeze before turning over and pulling her arm tightly around me. Our fingers interlock and we relax, settling into the embrace.

As I drift off to sleep, my mind is in a happy daze. Katniss likes me. Katniss kissed me. Katniss… Katniss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for the beta, as always.

**Author's Note:**

> So I know I totally reversed the intuitive casting of the main roles, but once I got this idea, I fell completely in love with it. Also, Katniss as Graham is hot but Katniss as Megan would annoy the hell out of me, while Johanna would be a badass in either role, so it was a win-win. It also gives me a lot more room to play with plot, so this will only somewhat follow the movie plot, though there will be lots of references to the original scenes.


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